


lovely words

by clokcwork_dragon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24425251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clokcwork_dragon/pseuds/clokcwork_dragon
Summary: There was little need for words; they'd both loved, and lost, and loved again. This time, they'd loved each other.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Kudos: 17





	lovely words

**Author's Note:**

> This took me about two days to write, and I typed it on my phone. Brain is dead. I am dead. Help me. 
> 
> It's just some fluffy SetJer because I love them too much! I guess it's also sort of a fix-it fic where Kronya didn't kill Jeralt, because I need those gay dads to be happy, okay? 
> 
> Anyway, have a fun read~

It was the quiet afternoons like these, that they enjoyed the most.

It was the middle of the week and fairly late, which meant that most students would be cooped up inro their dorms to study and prepare for the day to follow. The courtyard facing the fishing pond was all but empty, and Jeralt and Seteth had decided that a break from their respective duties wouldn't do much harm. So they'd met up at the dock, sitting with their legs dangling above the glimmering surface of the water. The sun had begun to set already, but there was still enough light about to allow for their respective activities. 

Jeralt balanced his sketchbook on one knee, quill scratching messily but surely on the yellowed parchment. Occasionally, his eyes would dart to Seteth to get a proper glimpse of one detail or the other, but the latter hadn't seemed to notice. He was too absorbed into his own writing, which Jeralt assumed was a new fable his partner had come up with.

Seteth hummed to himself, absentmindedly sucking at the feathered tip of his quill. Jeralt smiled a little, quickly fixing some lines on his sketch. 

"You're adorable when you're so focused." The mercenary murmured, looking up to catch the corners of Seteth's mouth twitch into a small smile. "What are you writing?" 

"Hmm... Something that's just come to me." Seteth answered cryptically. Jeralt rolled his eyes, slapping him gently on the shoulder when he started to lift up his head. 

"Hey. No moving, I need you to stay exactly lile you were." 

Seteth raised an eyebrow, though he remained in the requested position. 

"Why's that?" 

"It's a surprise."

Seteth sighed. "Alright, alright... Hm?"

This time he moved, snapping his notebook closed as Jeralt tried to peek into its contents. " _That's_ a surprise, too."

The mercenary's face twisted into a fake, insulted frown, and Seteth couldn't help but smile. "Patience, dear. I'll be done soon."

At the endearment, Jeralt's face successfully broke into a toothy grin; Seteth didn't often show his affection as verbally as he himself did; but now they were alone, and he must have felt comfortable enough to do so. 

It made Jeralt want to pull him into the deepest, sweetest kiss possible until they were both out of breath, but he held back for the sake of their respective artistic commitments. There would be plenty of time for kisses later, he reasoned.

Seteth returned to his writing, and Jeralt to his sketching. He didn't bother Seteth for a specific pose any longer, as he'd already gotten the bases of the sketch down. He only occasionally looked up to correct some details, but other than that the two worked in silence. 

Despite there were no words exchanged, the atmosphere between them was lovely. There was little noise to be heard other than the lazy sloshing of the water and the breeze between the branches of the trees, and Seteth felt as if he'd be able to stay there with Jeralt forever. Everything was calm, and safe, and _right_ , his heart alight with a kind of comfortable warmth he hasn't felt in so long. He prayed, as fervently as he possibly could, that it wouldn't be ripped away from him again. 

But no, he wouldn't think of that now; he was determined to take a leaf out of Flayn's book and enjoy the present moment, rather than dwell in the past or fear for the future. 

It wasn't long before he was done, and closed his notebook while tucking the quill between the pages he had just filled. He placed it on the smooth, worn wood beside him and leaned gently on Jeralt's shoulder; though he took great care to not disturb the latter from his work. 

"Don't look." Jeralt hummed, and Seteth nodded while closing his eyes obediently. 

"I'm not, I'm not." He reassured the other man, and truly he wasn't planning to. Just resting so close to him was enough, everything else could wait. 

"You're exhausted, you poor thing." Jeralt commented, his free hand reaching up to pet Seteth's hair. "Rhea is overworking you." 

"I can handle my duties, there's no need to worry about me." 

Seteth tried to reassure him, though if he wanted to be perfectly honest, he _did_ feel the weight of his workload on his shoulders. The past couple of weeks had been particularly draining, what with the breaching of the chapel and the battle against Monica (or Kronya? Who knew anymore). They'd had to increase the security at the monastery, and Seteth himself was taking charge of the aerial watch team. His schedule was tight and gruelling, but he wouldn't have backed down even if there was someone to replace him. Though Jeralt's jokes about "the bags under his eyes being large enough to carry the groceries from the marketplace" didn't fall so far from the truth. 

Well- there wasn't much to be done about it in the face of imminent danger. Besides, so long as he had Jeralt, and their little post-work escapades, he felt like he could handle it all.

Jeralt muttered something about showing Rhea a piece of his mind regardless, but he didn't drag the conversation any further. He knew by now, that Seteth wasn't going to admit anything until he was lying facefirst on the ground and having to crawl to bed rather than walk to it.

(The mercenary _did_ plan on remedying that, though it was through means other than _talking._ )

The silence lasted between them, and by the time Jeralt was done the last rays of the sun were disappearing behind the battlement towers in the west. He nudged Seteth gently, and the latter moved from Jeralt's shoulder to get hold of the sketchpad that had been offered to him.

He blinked, and his cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink as he beheld the picture. 

"I.. You hadn't told me you could draw." 

Truly, Jeralt would always bring a book to read or a blade to sharpen when the two sat by the dock. It was the first time he'd brought a sketchpad, and Seteth couldn't help but feel a bit flustered as he looked down at Jeralt's sketch of _him_ , as he'd been sitting with his eyes focused on his writings. 

Jeralt smirked, warm brown eyes shining between the laugh lines on his face. "Well, I haven't had much time to practice recently, but I figured the look on your face when you saw this would be worth it. And I was right." 

Seteth allowed himself a soft smile as he placed his hand on top of Jeralt's rough knuckles. "Thank you. It's wonderful. I... Would you mind if I looked at your other works?" 

It was Jeralt's turn to feel just a tad bit flustered, and he rubbed the back of his head while grinning. 

"Sure, why not. It's mostly... we'll, you'll see." 

Seteth flipped backwards through the pages, slowly; admiring the sketches he came across. Most were of Byleth, her sleeping or tending to her horse, or sharpening her blade. There were faces he didn't recognise, too, and he assumed they were Jeralt's mercenaries. There were even a few landscapes here and there, though those that weren't of his daughter were mostly of horses and of beasts Jeralt had faced in his travels. 

"You're really talented." Seteth pointed out after a while, handing the book back to Jeralt. He chuckled. 

"That's a huge compliment coming from the patron saint of the arts." 

"That's actually Macuil." Seteth huffed, pretending to be offended. "Really, I know you're not the most faithful person around, but I expected you to at least recall _my_ patronage." 

Jeralt laughed -a loud, earthly sound-, leaning forward to finally kiss him. 

"It's not my fault, your family is too confusing. Besides, you write." He murmured into Seteth's half-parted lips, sending shivers down the latter's spine. "And isn't Macuil the one that once headbutted a stone pillar? He doesn't sound like an artsy guy." 

"He's... a man of many talents." Seteth couldn't help but laugh a little, kissing the corner of Jeralt's mouth even as the latter's beard scratced his lips and nose. Jeralt hummed appreciatively, pulling Seteth closer and kissing his jawline.

"I'm joking, you know. I remember you're the patron saint of war." He murmured, one hand running through Seteth's emerald locks. "My fierce, dragon warrior." 

His fingers brushed against the pointed tip of Seteth's ear, and the latter sighed.

"I do not want you to remember me for that." There was a hint of sadness in his voice. "I... To you, I don't want to be a saint, Jeralt. I do not want you to think of me as a harbinger of war, either." 

Jeralt's rough thumb brushed gently over Seteth's cheekbone, his expression suddenly serious. 

"I know. I love you for what you truly are, you know." 

The light was almost gone now; the last of it reflected into both their eyes as they brought their forehead's together, Jeralt's hand still toying with Seteth's hair. No one was there to see them, and Jeralt took the privilege of brushing his partner's hair away, tucking it behind his dragon's ears.

"The believers of the Faith might think of Cichol as a warrior, or as a deity or whatever. But I know he - _you_ \- are a kind man. A man who loved the humans, even though they killed his people. A man who loves his family, who fights for us all. A protector. And a lover." 

Seteth couldn't ignore the tightness releasing its grip on his chest, as he beheld Jeralt's words. He intertwined their fingers, resting his head on the other man's shoulder. 

"Thank you, dear." He murmured softly, enjoying the sudden warmth of Jeralt's arms around him against the nightly chill. Jeralt held him as the silence enveloped them. 

"Now," the mercenary startes on a lighter tone, hoping to ease the mood "you didn't show me what you were writing. I'm curious." 

"Oh... Right, of course." Seteth was grateful for the deepening twilight, for that meant Jeralt wouldn't be able to see the deep crimson hue colouring his pale face. "Here..." 

Fingers shuffling nervously with the pages, he opened his notebook right where the quill had been marking the page. Gingerly, he placed it open on Jeralt's lap. The latter took it in his hands, lifting it closer to his face and squinting. After a couple of seconds, he let out an annoyed huff.

"Hate to admit it, but I think my measly human eyes aren't suited for reading in the dark." He looked at Seteth sheepishly. "Think perhaps a dragon's eyes would do better?"

Seteth blinked in mild confusion. "You... want me to read it out loud for you?" 

"If you'd be so generous, o divine son of Sothis-" 

"Stop, please." Seteth was lost between laughing at his partner's antics, and throwing the embarrassing contents of his notebook in the pond so he wouldn't have do do this. "I... You could read it later, in your room." 

"Hm?" Jeralt wiggled his bushy eyebrows. "Is it perhaps so lewd that you wouldn't dare speak it-"

"No! _Goddess_ , Jeralt, why do you have to make everything so difficult." 

"Oh, but you love me nonetheless." 

"Of course." Seteth sighed. "Alright... I'll read it. But only once, so you better listen." 

"I'm all ears." The mercenary winked, sitting back and waiting. 

Seteth looked down at the contents that he himself had scribbled. By the Saints, he was too old for romantic poetry and lovesick letters... And yet. _And yet._

His eyes adjusted in the dim light coming from the dining hall behind them; it wasn't much, but his kind's enhances senses still worked despite his age. Although he could just barely discern the ink on the parchment, it was enough. 

"Ready?" Really, he didn't know why he asked, stalling the inevitable. But Jeralt just nodded patiently. Seteth sighed- well then, that was it.

He cleared his throat, and began to read aloud: 

" _How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._  
 _I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_  
 _My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_  
 _For the ends of being and ideal grace._  
 _I love thee to the level of every day’s_  
 _Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light._  
 _I love thee freely, as men strive for right._  
 _I love thee purely, as they turn from praise._  
 _I love thee with the passion put to use_  
 _In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith._  
 _I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_  
 _With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,_  
 _Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if the Goddess choose,_  
 _I shall but love thee better after death._ "

Seteth had kept his voice as even and quiet as possible, trying to trick himself into detachment from the emotion that had spurred him into writing the poem. And yet as he read over the final few words, he couldn't prevent his voice from cracking slightly, his heart skipping a beat. 

Would Jeralt like it? Would he mock him for it, thinking it too "cheesy" as the youth often said? He hated the lingering silence that still stretched thin between them, he hated the anticipation, the trembling of his hands as he closed his notebook and placed it down on the dock again- 

As soon as he'd let go of the little object of his torment, his hand was seized by Jeralt's. Seteth jumped a little, turning to face Jeralt without knowing what to expect. And yet the mercenary's smile wasn't mocking or sarcastic, it was just gentle and genuine, as both his hands held Seteth's. 

"I didn't know you wrote poetry." He murmured, and Seteth swallowed the nervousness that constricted his throat. Goodness, what was he, a lovesick teenager? 

"I... do, sometimes. But I prefer prose." He managed, hoping he wasn't embarrassing himself further. "Did you like it...?"

"I loved it, actually. It was wonderful." Jeralt flipped Seteth's hand over, his fingers tracing the lines on his lover's palm. He looked up at Seteth. "I love you too, you stubborn fool. Just as much." 

Seteth's ears twitched in embarrassment, though the purring noise that was rumbling into his chest spoke miles about the relief those words brought. He inched a bit closer to Jeralt again, appreciating it when the other man pulled him close. 

It wasn't easy to say 'i love you'. Of course, he _loved_ Jeralt; so much his heart ached. But, centuries of loneliness, of fear, of loss... they'd taken a toll on him. Words were easier for him to write than speak, and he hoped Jeralt would understand that. That he'd understand how much he wanted to say these words, and that since he wouldn't speak them, he'd written them out for him. 

Oh, Jeralt _understood_. While words came easier for him, and he processed his emotions faster than Seteth did his own, he had also tasted loss and loneliness. Cold night in which his only company were thoughts of the one he'd lost. Dreams, and memories, that would forever linger in the past.

He knew he couldn't have saved Sitri. But he also knew he hadn't seen her die. Not like Seteth had seen Maleyth's dead body, carved and torn apart in front of him by weapons made out of their kin. He didn't know that kind of pain. He didn't know what it did to one's mind and soul.

The pair remained still, sitting under the moonligh that danced upon the pond's wrinkled surface. Seteth clung to Jeralt, to his warmth and presence. There was little need for words; they'd both loved, and lost, and loved again. This time, they'd loved each other. 

It was enough. More than enough, in fact. They had a new family; their daughters, and each other. A home were all four of them were safe. What more could they ask for?

Time passed. Minutes or hours? None of them knew for certain, but night had fallen properly now. Noise buzzed distantly from the dining hall, the voices of hungry students coming to enjoy their last meal for the day. At some point, a voice they knew called out to them from the stairs that led to the hall. 

"Father!" Flayn had cupped her hands around her mouth for her voice to reach them, while Byleth stood next to her; a dark silhouette like an ever-vigilant guardian. "Come on, it's dinnertime! There's fish stew tonight, I know you love it!" 

Seteth and Jeralt turned around, and Jeralt laughed. "With how loud she is, I'm sure the she's gonna scare any fish away." 

Seteth couldn't help but laugh too. He got up, picking up his and Jeralt's things from the dock. Though his free hand remained interlocked into Jeralt's. 

"You two are the talk of the class!" Flayn chirped when the men came near; she'd said it as if it was a good thing, but Seteth choked onto thin air at it. 

"What do you mean, Flayn?"

"Oh, they say that with you two guarding the monastery, no enemy will ever slip in." Byleth's eyes remained eerily vacant, but her lips played into a small teasing smile. Flayn giggled, and Jeralt ruffled his own daughter's hair. 

"Yeah well, let them talk." He winked at Seteth. "It'll scare off whoever thinks about sneaking in here in the dead of night."

"Oh I'm sure you're both busy in the dead of night."

"Hey, kid! Not in front of the little princess." Jeralt laughed, nodding towards Flayn, who huffed in annoyance. 

"I am not a child. I know what comes and goes between two individuals deeply in love, and-"

"Flayn, how did you do in that bishop exam?" Seteth cut in before his dignity could suffer any additional blows, from his own daughter nonetheless. He glared at Jeralt and Byleth too, who were laughing almost to the point of tears.

Yet as embarrassed as he was, he couldn't help but smile as well. For once, things felt normal. No Flame Emperor, no threat to their lives or to Fódlan's peace. No threat of war. Just their little, broken-and-glued-back-together family, and the warmth they had surrounded themselves with.

Yes... perhaps, for once, they would all find happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's easy to tell my brain died near the ending. Eh, at least I finished it. 
> 
> The poem Seteth wrote for Jeralt, is Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How Do I love Thee". Million thanks to a friend for recommending it! I just switched up the word 'God' with 'Goddess' for Fodlan purposes. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a kudos and perhaps a comment~


End file.
